Trigger Warning: Panic, Anxiety, Mental Health
Disclaimer: This is a personal reflection and not medical advice.
This morning I woke up on empty.
Not physically. I slept maybe four hours but emotionally, spiritually, mentally… I was drained before the day even started.
Anxiety hit fast.
No trigger. No warning. Just that rush in my chest, that nervous buzzing in my stomach like something awful was about to happen. My first instinct? Cry. Scream. Hide. I wanted to escape my own skin.
But I didn’t shut down completely.
I tried.
God, I tried.
I prayed.
I stayed under the weighted blanket, telling myself over and over, “You’re okay. This is just anxiety. You’ve felt this before. You will not die.”
I wanted to take something to calm down, but fear crept in: What if it makes things worse? What if my body reacts?
So instead, I leaned into what I could do.
My mom helped the kids this morning.
My husband stepped in. Not just physically, but emotionally.
He sat with me.
He massaged my shoulders and my back, slow and gentle just enough pressure to remind me I was still here, still safe. He offered distractions:
“Want to play a game?”
“Wanna scroll and find something funny?”
“Try this it’s lemon. The sour might shock your senses.”
And it did help not all at once, but enough to interrupt the spiral.
I still felt shaky. Still felt like I couldn’t breathe deep. Still felt that heavy, horrible “what if” voice whispering that something was wrong with me.
But I kept trying.
I drank water.
I got up to pee even though I didn’t want to move.
I talked. I cried. I let him hold me.
And even though I didn’t feel instantly better, I reminded myself that surviving the storm is enough.
Anxiety doesn’t care if you have kids.
It doesn’t care if you had a good day yesterday.
It doesn’t care if your life is finally starting to feel like it’s in order.
But I do.
I care.
About healing. About showing up. About doing whatever it takes to not let this monster win.
So today, if you’re reading this under your own weighted blanket, if you’re gripping your chest trying to figure out if it’s anxiety or something worse I want you to know:
You’re not failing.
You’re fighting.
And that matters.
Even when it doesn’t feel like progress it is.
You got out of bed. You asked for help. You’re reading this.
That’s effort.
That’s resilience.
That’s you, still here.